Momentum
by flipperbaby
Summary: AU. Ivan Braginski is the sadistic head of the Russian Mafia in NYC. ALfred is a kid cop thrown into an undercover situation that goes farther than he ever imagined. Multiple pairings, lots of characters.
1. Chapter 1

"That's the fifth one this month" Arthur Kirkland, head of the police department, scowled, glaring at the photograph. A young woman beamed up from the picture, her cheerful and animated expression lighting up the entire frame. Her name, Annie Lin, was scrawled at the bottom of the photo in messy, loopy handwriting.

"We've got no leads?" Arthur asked the man sitting across the desk from him, his scowl becoming more pronounced when the other man shook his head.

"Sorry Art" the man apologized, his bright blue eyes clouded with worry, "This guy's a real sicko. He's got no preference, no pattern…men, women, children…they're all alike to him."

"And he's killed how many people so far, Al?"Arthur responded, grasping his head wearily in between his hands.

The other man, Alfred, sighed, "We think…twenty. Perhaps more. We found Annie's body floating up the river, her skull bashed in with a heavy and blunt object, and of course…on her upper-right shoulder…"

"The tattoo of the bear, yes, yes I know. It's the only thing linking all the murders together…the methods for killing have been rather diverse, no? Bludgeoning, stabbing, shooting, poisoning, the list goes on and on" Arthur responded wearily, "The Bear Serial killer. He's got nearly this entire city in complete panic, and so far, we've got no leads on the bastard."

"D'you think it's one man?" Alfred suddenly spoke up, examining the photograph.

"No" Arthur shook his head, "There's more than one man behind this. There's simply no way for such bloodshed to occur in such succession, and as I said, the style of killing is just far too diverse…it's just not possible for a single man to be behind all of this."

"So we're after an organization?"

"Yes" Arthur stood, his eyes hard and face resolute, "Al, go grab your brother and the Frog. We're going to do some field work today, and go re-visit the some of the spots where we found the victims."

"But will that really help?"

"We've been cooped in this office for weeks, Al" Arthur responded wearily, passing a hand over his face, "We need to get out. And who knows? We may find something."

Alfred stared up at Arthur before rising as well and stretching. "Alright. Meet me down by your car. I'll go get Francis and Mattie now."

* * *

"Ah, quelle horreur!" The blonde Frenchman cried, examining a cutting from a recent newspaper. He lay splayed across a king sized bed in nothing but a pair of pink boxer shorts, exposing his white chest and hairy legs for all the world to see.

"So ze Bearman is at it again, yes?" he said in a heavy French accent, twirling a lock of golden hair between two long, delicate fingers. "And this case has given little Al so much trouble, tsk tsk tsk..."

Just then, several sharp knocks issued from the front door of the French man's apartment. Scattering the newspaper clippings all over the bedroom, he lept from the bed and ran to answer the door, not bothering in the least to make himself decent.

"Bonjour Alfred!" He said, stretching up against the doorway to show his fellow cop his body in all its naked glory. "What brings you by my humble abode on this fine Friday afternoon?"

* * *

Alfred hurried out of the police office, headed straight to Francis' extravagant flat. Loathe as he did to admit it, Francis could be unusually perceptive at certain times, and had, time and time again, proved an invaluable asset to the "team". He reached the building where the Frenchman resided, and within minutes, had taken the elevator to the top. Quickly, he rapped on the door, waiting as he heard a flurry of paper, and then the sound of footsteps.

The door flew open, and Alfred was instantly greeted by a very muscular, but very naked Francis. Smiling obliviously, as he learned there was no way to really counter Francis' well, forwardness, Alfred bobbed his head up and down at the other's greeting, "Art needs your help." He responded, internally smirking and knowing what a thrill it would be to Francis and what a blow to Arthur to have phrased the statement so it sounded like Arthur had asked for Francis' help.

"Does he now?" Francis said, blue eyes sparkling as he flipped his golden hair. "I suppose this is concerning ze bear man, non?"

Alfred smirked nodding, "Yep. And let's get some clothes on this time. We don't want a repeat of the screwdriver incident…how did you get that thing out of your ass anyways? He lodged it up there pretty good from what I could see…"

Francis smirked. "It's a secret." he purred. "We can try it here if you like...except using your magical appendage instead of a screwdriver."

Alfred shook his head, still smiling, "No way Francis. Last thing I need is some furious limey trying to skin me because I slept with his boyfriend. Now c'mon. We gotta go grab Mattie."

Francias frowned, but didn't bother to argue. He slipped back inside his flat to get changed, leaving the door wide open in case Alfred might want to enter his extravagant abode. Five minutes later, the tall blonde man emerged from his bedroom wearing black slacks and buttoning up a white shirt as he approached the front room.

"Where are we off to?" He asked, selecting one of the many designer jackets he owned from a small coat closet. He showed Alfred the door.

"Mattie's place" Alfred replied, following Francis out the door, "Do you remember where he lives again? I mean, I swear for the life of me I can't figure out where he disappears to half the time!"

They took Alfred's car, though Francis pleaded to let him drive. He took pride in his skill. Weaving in and out of traffic without getting hit is an art, and one he certainly excelled at. He sped up to terrifying speeds, zooming under yellow lights the moment before they turned red. Ignoring Alfred's screams of terror and annoying backseat-driver comments, he delivered the vehicle unscathed to Mattie's residence.

* * *

Mattew let out a satisfied sigh as he looked at the feast before him on his tiny, worn down wooden table. A pile of pancakes the size and height of a small beaver sat before him, positively smothered in butter and maple syrup. There was a giant glass (mug, if he was being honest) of milk set off to the right and a pile of napkins on his left. Never had Matt seen a more gorgeous meal.

He grabbed his mismatched fork and knife and started to dig in. He'd just piled a satisfactory glob onto his fork, and was about to shove it into the black hole he called a mouth when

DING DONG!

Shit. That was probably – "Al, what the hell are you doing? You don't just barge into people's apartments and tromp mud all over the floors! Jesus, man, learn some restraint- oh, hi Francis, good to see you..."

* * *

After narrowly avoiding what had surely been several near-death incidents, Alfred staggered up the drive to his brother's house, glaring at Francis before slamming down on the doorbell. A few minutes passed, then the door swung open and Alfred barreled in without any invite, shoving his younger brother out of the way as he did so. A delicious smell hung heavy in the air, and, instantly recognizing the aroma, Alfred perked up instantly.

He quickly made his way to the kitchen, where, not to his surprise, a huge stack of steaming pancakes smothered in maple syrup and butter lay before him. "Sweet!" he exclaimed, plopping down in the chair before the mound. Grabbing a fork that he was certain had been left for him; Alfred speared a portion of the pancake and stuffed it into his mouth.

For a moment, the Canadian stood in stunned silence. Was his brother really-?

"Dude, what the hell? Those took me ten minutes to make! And I haven't eaten in like three hours! AND I just got back from hockey practice!"

Matt sighed in acceptance. There was no point trying to argue with Alfred now. He did whatever he wanted, and that was that. Still, it struck a melancholy chord in his heart to see his favorite food disappear into his brother's amazingly large and unattractive gob so quickly.

"At least save me half… I'm guessing that you're here about work? I saw that article in the paper. Another bear victim, huh?"

Alfred frowned as he shoveled the food into his mouth. The pancakes were great, really, amazing. However, there was a strange buzzing in his right ear…was someone trying to talk to him? Nah. Shrugging it off, Alfred polished off the mound of food, and, with a satisfied sigh, leaned back in his chair.

"Man, that was great!" he cried, sitting for a few minutes before turning around to see Matthew staring at him with a slight look of disbelief plastered across his face, "Oh hey Mattie!" Alfred called cheerfully, standing and crossing over to pull his younger brother into a bear hug, "I didn't even see you! When did you get here?"

"guh…. My… food…." Matt's mind produced only fragments of thoughts as he watched the last bit of pancake slide down his brother's throat.

The look of horror on his face grew even more pronounced as he saw Alfred jump up and head straight for him. Moments later he was crushed into a withered Canadian ball by his brother, who was shouting something about not noticing him.

"Al, let go…. Can't… breathe…" he gasped as he was freed from the taller man's jaws of death.

After a momentary delay, Matt had recovered enough to reply " Hey, what do you mean, when did I get here? THIS IS MY HOUSE! Okay, well not house, but… MY APARTMENT! Now, will someone please tell me why my dear brother Alfred is inhaling my food? Does this have to do with work, or what?"

"Your place?" Alfred looked around, before a giant grin bloomed across his face, "Hey you're right! We made it here! Anyways…well. Yeah. Mattie, it's about the Bear Serial Killer again." Alfred paused running a hand over his face, "They found another victim."

Matt grimaced. He had known what the news was going to be, but he still died a little bit every time this guy killed and got away with it.

"Okay, sure. Let me change out of my jersey and we'll head on down to the station. Francis," Matthew turned to address the Frenchman, who'd been pretty much silent since he'd walked in the door.

"Should I dress like a kid or an officer? I need to know whether I'll be going straight onto the streets or into the office."

Francis jerked slightly from his relaxed position against the wall as if Mattie's words had interrupted some deep train of thought, though Francis' thoughts were not what one would consider "deep".

"Well...you always look like a kid," He teased the smaller man, "so I guess the question would really be 'do I want to look like a kid dressed as an officer or just a kid?' But I'd say kid dressed up as an officer. We have to swing by the office if we want to get details from Art."

"Sure, sure. Pick on the little guy. Alright, I'll be out in a minute. And AL! I DON'T HAVE ANY MORE FOOD SO YOU CAN STOP LOOKING THROUGH MY CUPBOARDS!"

Matt sighed and walked into his messy room. After picking an only slightly wrinkled button up shirt and pair of jeans out of his laundry basket, he smoothed down his hair quickly and threw on some shoes. He stumbled back into the front room and grabbed his wallet before ushering his two companions out the door.

"Lets get to work, guys."

* * *

Arthur smiled, watching as Alfred hurried out of the room. Finally. He would have some peace and quiet. It would probably take the boy at least an hour to grab Matt and the pervert, and Arthur planned on using that hour for some quality time. Stretching as he stood, he took a key out of his back pocket, and jamming it into the lock under his desk, opened his private drawer. From there, he pulled out his case of tea, and, of course, his latest piece of embroidery. Though he loved it, he rarely embroidered in front of his co-workers, as it usually got him a few odd stares and even more sniggers. He grabbed the kettle from the small kitchen he had adjacent to his office, set the water on boil, and smiled, relaxing into the chair as he started back on his latest masterpiece.

"Dude is that a fucking unicorn?"

Arthur jumped, startled. So engrossed had he been in his fine craft that he hadn't noticed the time pass, hadn't heard the door slam open, hadn't heard the footsteps, and now, Alfred, accompanied by Francis and Matt were staring at him.

"It…it's none of your bloody business!" Arthur defended, blushing and hiding his embroidery hoop behind his back.

"Art. What the hell?" Alfred looked dumbfounded, "You're the fucking head police officer around here, and you spend your free time embroidering unicorns? What? Is your lifelong ambition to become an eighty year old lady?"

"I said shut up!" Arthur snapped, glaring at Alfred, "It's none of your damn business what I do in my free time! Now! You're here for work, right?" he asked, turning pointedly away from Alfred and focusing his attention instead on Francis and Matthew.


	2. Chapter 2

Violet eyes stared out of a small dirty window, uninterested and almost bored as their owner's long white fingers tapped a steady beat on the splintered wood of the windowsill. As he stared out upon the gray, dreary sky and the cramped city below, the tall man at the window hummed the tune to an old Russian folk song quietly through colorless lips.

A quiet knock rang in timid little raps from behind the door that lead into the simple office. A slow smile spread across the man's face as he turned toward it.

"Come in, come in." The man's sing-song voice said. Although its tone was light and pleasant, there was an uncanny menace in it that made the jolly invitation a command.

The door opened slowly and a nervous man with shaggy brown hair stepped in, standing uneasily by the entrance. He was tall, but nowhere near the Russian man's height.

"I-Ivan - I mean, M-M-Mr. Braginski, s-sir?" The man quivered. Under the other man's mad stare, he seemed to shrink to half his actual height.

"What is it, my dear Torris?" The Russian cooed; yet through his mouth the endearment sounded sick.

"I-I, well, he, er, Raivis I mean - he failed to collect the m-money sir...I-I promise we'll get it. W-w-we just need more t-time...I-"

"Sit down, Torris." Ivan said, gesturing to a straight-backed chair in front of a spotless mahogany desk. The nervous man crossed the room and sat in the chair as told. Ivan joined him on the other side. "You have always been good to me Torris." He said fondly, "I raised you from childhood as if you were my own."

"Yes, sir."

"You've done everything I ask of you and expect nothing in return."

"Y-yes, sir."

"I trust you with my most important errands."

"Yes..."

"But if you fail me again, my dear, sweet Torris," Ivan leaded over the desk, breath brushing the cowering subordinate's white face. "I wouldn't have second thoughts about feeding you to Natalia."

Torris' body broke out into a fit of violent shudders, and the Russian pulled away, pleased with his affect.

"You may leave, Torris." He said calmly, leaning back into the comfortable crimson armchair. "I would be most pleased if you were to fetch Raivis for me, for I would like to discuss some things with him."

Torris nodded, standing up and then hastily turning to the door, stepped around a tall white-blonde man that stood in the middle of the doorway. The man ran his eyes up and down the shorter man's body and an approving noise issued from his throat.

"Come in, Gilbert." Ivan said, addressing the albino.

"Yo, Boss!" The man named Gilbert said, his German accent mixing awkwardly with the American slang. He strode boldly up to the desk, grabbing his crotch to keep his over-sized pants from falling to the floor. "You rang me earlier. What's goin' my man?"

"Yes. I need you to do me a favor." Ivan said, ignoring the awful image before him that should never be allowed; white, dorky, European men using street slang that can only be used effectively by black people.

"I need you to pay a visit to our dear friend Wang."

* * *

Wind. It was a deal breaker. It crept into warm corners and homes, leaving them cold and empty. It stole leaves and papers, carrying them away to unfamiliar places; leaving them to die alone. It was always moving, always hunting. It was the messenger of chaos.

Natalia looked out the window of her tiny studio apartment, wishing she could be the wind. Sure, she could kill, had killed. Sure, she could torture. She'd made people suffer until their screams died out and all that was left of their soul was pathetic pleading. She could do these things, but she never felt the power of the wind.

In fact, she didn't feel anything. She never felt remorse or even the sick joy that comes from committing so great a sin. The only time she ever felt anything was when she was able to be of use to Brother. In those moments when Ivan congratulated her on a particularly successful kill, she felt completely whole.

That's why she was so utterly devoted to the tall, intimidating man. He made her come alive.

Suddenly Natalia heard the creaking of floorboards, just outside the apartment door. She pulled her favorite blade out of the waistband of her dress, ready for an attack. There was a clinking noise, as if someone had picked the lock, and the old wooden door swung open. Natalia's body tensed as she calculated the speed and intensity with which she'd need to throw to kill her target. But she still didn't move. What if it was Brother?

The intruder reached over and flipped the light switch, revealing her face. Natalia sighed and loosened her arm upon recognition of her sister, Yekaterina.

"Иисус, you scared me. I thought you were out on a mission until tomorrow. Why did you pick the lock?"

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that, turns out the bank was an easier break-in than I thought. I lost my key, and I didn't know you were home, so I just did what I do best. Why were you sitting in the dark, in the first place? Oh, and you really oughtn't take the Lord's name in vain."

Natalia snorted. With their professions, was there really any point in pretending to be good Christians at home? She figured not, but it kept her sister sane, so Natalia uttered a reluctant "Sorry," before getting up to turn on the water. Katy was sure to want cocoa. She always did when she came home.

The phone rang, breaking the easy silence in the room. Natalia rushed to the small mahogany table that it sat on, picking up the receiver with an eager smile.

"Hello?"

* * *

After the German left, Ivan immediately turned to the black cordless phone that sat on his desk. He picked up the receiver and held it to his ear with one hand while dialing with another.

"So much to do, so much to do..." He sighed as the phone on the other end rang once...twice...

"Hello?" The heavy accented voice of his most trusted ally came through the other end.

"Hello, dear Sister." Ivan said, tone somewhat affectionate. Though not blood-related, he and Natalia had grown up together and over the years had developed a unique respect for one another. In short, they were both what most would consider insane. The trigger happy woman shared Ivan's passion for merciless killing and also understood his complete and utter emptiness better than anyone could. Though neither necessarily trusted the other, for trust was something you couldn't afford to have in their business, they could empathize with each other and thus respected one another with caution. They were not just allies, but not quite friends.

Ivan allowed a small smile to creep across his face in response to her relieved greeting. "I have a job I think you'll enjoy..." He said, unable to help the spreading of his smile into a sadistic grin at the image of Raivis' frightened, vulnerable face.

Natalia let that sly little smile that she reserved for Brother creep onto her face. She could feel a blush rise to warm her cold cheeks, and the voice that she spoke with next was close to a purr.

"Dearest Brother, you know I enjoy any job that comes from you. What's the order for today?"

She sighed with content as she let certain... questionable thoughts slide through her mind.

A tendency towards assassination is just so attractive in a man.

"I am having a rather persistent problem with little Raivis." Ivan spoke calmly into the mouth piece, occupying himself with the task of removing specks of dirt from under his fingernails. "He seems to have a memory problem and I believe that your...extraordinary methods...might help him remember to turn in the long-overdue sum of money he owes me. I'd do it myself, you see, but I am very busy."

"Ah, Raivis. Yes, I do remember him. He's so small; he'll be fun to play with. Alright then, Brother, as soon as I receive my customary payment, I'll make sure you get yours. Goodbye, dearest. I'll be seeing you shortly."

She didn't even bother to wait for his reply before hanging up. She knew her money would be delivered in a small brown paper bag to the P.O. Box she kept specifically for him by the end of the day.

Time to get to work.

"Sister, I'm terribly sorry, but I've got to head out for work. It should only take a few days at most. Oh, and the water's boiling."

"Aw, I wanted to spend some time with you. Well, at least try to keep clean this time. You know how I hate it when you come home looking like a ragamuffin."

"Yes, Katy." She replied quickly as she waltzed into her closet sized bedroom, bumping the door closed with her hip and grabbing the small leather bag that was her only companion on her missions.

Natalia let out a hearty laugh as she flipped her flaxen hair, raking her fingers through it and roughly pulling out the white bow she used to keep it tied down.

Then she looked in the mirror, absolutely adoring the feral expression she saw reflected in her eyes. Loving it because Brother loved it. And Brother was the only one whose opinion she cared for.

She stuffed her bag with only the essentials – toothbrush, cell, money, a small amount of clothing, and the various weapons that were the tools of her trade. No identification. If she was caught or killed the last thing she wanted was for the police to find out who she was. The very last thing she stuffed into the small satchel was a fresh hair bow.

It would be blood stained soon enough.

Then she headed out the door and onto the city streets. Anticipation laced the air, as if it knew what she was about to do. She started walking south, straight into the heart of NYC. Straight to the small office where Raivis was sure to be cowering in fear.

* * *

Raivis had spent the whole day hidden away in the horribly maintained apartment he and his two "brothers" shared. He couldn't face Ivan. Not now, not ever. He thought back to the fat roll of Benjamin Franklins. It had taken him many sleepless nights of compromises, promises, and deals to collect the twenty grand he owed his Boss. It was incredible, almost comical, how it had taken him so much work to collect it, yet so little effort to lose it.

_Where had it gone?_ He thought, pacing back and forth across the width of the shared bedroom. He'd searched everywhere. He had retraced his steps hundreds of times, and recalled every movement he'd made three days previously crystal clear...except that one fraction of a moment it took him to lose his repaid debt, and possibly his life.

Late that afternoon, the phone rang from its place in the kitchen. In the hot and stagnant indoor air, the ringing sounded painfully loud in the weighted silence that Raivis had maintained for the entire day.

_Ring...ring...ring... _

The noise plagued Raivis' paranoid ears. Every creak was the careful step of Ivan's boot, every cry or shout from the surrounding rooms was his cries of agony as Natalia beat him without mercy.

"Go away!" he cried from under the bundles of blankets on his bed. "Just leave me alone..."  
_  
Ring...ring..._

The phone's call continued, ominous in his ears. _You can't run forever, Raivis,_ he told himself, though the thought echoed in a different voice; a light voice that rang like funeral bells; the voice of Ivan Braginski. With a shudder, Raivis climbed out of the bed, untangling himself from the sweat-soaked sheets. He picked up the receiver just before it cut to the answering machine.

"Hello, Raivis." The voice on the other end of the line sent shivers down the short Latvian man's spine.

"Mr. B-Braginski, Sir I-I'm so terribly sorry, but I-"

There was laughter on the other end. "Yes, I know. You don't have my twenty grand. It's alright, my little friend."

"Huh?" It took a moment before Raivis' initial shock was washed away by a cool wave of relief. "R-really? Do you mean it, Boss?"

"Yes, dear Raivis. Every word." The voice chuckled and Raivis failed to pick up on its dark edge as he fell against the side of the refrigerator in relief. "Now I need you to be at the Office at exactly 6:00 this evening. Come straight into my office. I have a job waiting for you."

The line went dead. Raivis set the receiver in its proper place and looked at the clock. It was 5:00 PM. He had an hour. Deciding it would be better to be there early than late, Raivis got dressed and grabbed a jacket and keys before leaving the apartment.

The Boss's "office" lay on the fifth floor of a grimy old office building in one of the poorer sections of New York where many of the older buildings stood. Upon arriving at the Office, Raivis did exactly as he was told, climbing the creaky stairs with the faded red carpet five floors.

Upon reaching Ivan's door, Raivis knocked at the wood once...twice. There was no answer. He tried the door knob. It was unlocked and the door swung inward, slowly and silently, reminding him of a horror film. The scarf-wearing Russian was nowhere in sight, but upon closer observation, Raivis noticed a note on top of the mahogany desk that Ivan owned not out of necessity, but because it made him look "official".

He removed the note. On it was a single sentence. Upon reading it, Raivis' body went ridged. Letting out a cry, his hand released the paper, letting it float down to the dirty carpet. He backed away from the note, unintelligible noises issuing from his throat. His eyes were large as saucers with pure primordial fear. Suddenly, something heavy collided with his head, releasing from him a final cry and forcing him to the floor...

Raivis awoke sitting in a chair. His arms and legs were bound and he was not blind-folded, though he found that more frightening than being tied down. The bright florescent lighting was blinding. His surroundings were all gray and very cold. He recognized the place immediately with a small amount of surprise that was over-ridden by a tremendous fear. He was in a parking garage.

His head jerked to look behind him as the sound of a descending elevator broke the frigid silence. Behind him, the black double doors slid back to reveal a small platinum blonde figure. Raivis felt a scream rise to his lips but the only sound that came out was a quiet squeak as he cowered in fear.

"N-Natalia!" He whispered, nearly falling from his chair.

* * *

When Natalia had arrived at the Office, where she'd assumed Raivis would be delivered, she found only an empty building. Nobody, not even Gilbert, was standing guard in front of Ivan's office. She'd simply waltzed right in, only to find a lifeless room waiting for her. Every scrap of paper was in place and not a single window was broken, so she knew that Brother had set her up on purpose.

Upon further inspection, she'd discovered a note addressed to her, tucked away in a corner of the massive wooden desk that Ivan kept for appearances. It instructed her towards a parking garage in the Lower East Side. Rough part of town.

She'd taken the elevator down into a space completely foreign to her. Natalia didn't like this situation, but she'd do anything for Brother. After all, there must've been a reason he'd taken her here. Perhaps he'd been joking about Raivis. Perhaps he'd lured her here to kill her.

Or perhaps… dare she hope? Perhaps he'd directed her here so they could escape together.

She'd never admit it, but Natalia had always secretly hoped to get out of the city life – get out of the killing, the torturing, the crime and the regret she knew she should feel. But as long as Brother stayed, so would she.

So, as the black elevator doors slid open, she braced herself for whatever was waiting on the other side. Be it Ivan, or death, or even dear pathetic Raivis, she was ready.

As the fluorescent light of the underground bathed her face, Natalia reached into her belt for her favorite knife. It was a long, thin blade. Good for drawing blood, but not thick enough to kill easily. That way she didn't make as many mistakes. That way they would suffer more.

She stepped out of the elevator, and as she saw a trembling blonde tied to a chair before her, she grinned. So it was only Raivis.

Suddenly it didn't matter to her what reason Ivan had for moving their location. The only thing that mattered was getting Brother the item he desired. And the person who could get that to her had been delivered right to her, head basically on a silver platter.

"Hello, Raivis. Happy to see me? It's been too long."

He was dead. As Raivis stared at Natalia's knife, he realized that he had known all along...ever since Ivan sent him to the Office, he knew the end was coming. Suddenly everything seemed so meaningless; Ivan, the "family", the murder, money, everything. A sort of numbness crept over Raivis as she approached him on catlike feet - deadly silent, the perfect killer. Suddenly, nothing mattered.

"I wouldn't say _happy_ is the right word..." he said. His voice was devoid of all emotion. Not because he wasn't afraid - for his heart currently felt like a sledge hammer as it pounded against his ribs - but because no feeling nor emotion could accurately express the helplessness he felt. It didn't matter what he said or did.

"Oh? What a pity. I would've thought you'd be happy to see me again. I haven't seen you since… well, since you were of use to Brother,"

Natalia let out a chuckle she knew sounded insane. She guessed it was insane, actually. Sane people don't torture and kill for their would-be lovers, now did they?

And as the light reflected off her long knife and into Raivis' eyes, Natalia saw something she didn't normally see until her victims were bloodied and dying. She watched his eyes grow dim with the loss of his hope, before she'd even set a finger on him.

He would be no fun to play with any more. She sighed as she thought of the best way to kill him quickly.

She approached lightly, her small feet making no noise on the cold cement floor. She slipped the blade between her teeth as she bent over him to rip open his shirt above his right shoulder, where she knew the bear tattoo would be.

She saw the pink flesh, inflamed from the recent inking; the death mark that her Brother always gave as a parting gift.

She felt the small man stiffen beneath her, either from the generous sight that her position afforded him, or from fear at knowing what she would do next. It didn't matter much either way. Everyone knows that sex and death are closely related. It is impossible to think of one without the other.

She reached up and gently slid the blade from between her teeth, taking her time. She knew that Raivis would be unable to focus on anything but her lips, so she tortured him with this too. One should use any weapon at their disposal, right? It just so happened that this was one of hers.

Natalia then walked around the chair, so she could see the tattoo clearly; and also so that Raivis was not allowed the sight of her.

She pressed the thin blade deep into the black lines, slowly carving his skin with deft, careful strokes. She heard the first hiss of pain, and slowly felt his agony grow with each new cut. She was surprised and impressed at his self control; most men screamed long before this.

Natalia had only gotten to the front paws of the bear, when she heard the faint whir of the black elevator. It must be on its descent.

Shit. Natalia couldn't afford to let someone find her! She stood quickly, and pocketed her knife. Then, in a farewell gesture, she gave Raivis the lightest kiss on the lips before slipping into the emergency staircase. She wasn't quick enough, however, and just as her head disappeared through the door, she thought she heard a strange voice call for her to stop. She just kept running.

* * *

Matt stepped out of the elevator in the parking garage, grumbling to himself. Why did he always have to run all the errands around this place? Matt, go get my car. Matt, feed me. Matt, do whatever I want because I'm your selfish lazy brother that you're too nice to abandon.

Damn Yank.

As the doors slid open, however, a most peculiar scene greeted him. The first thing he saw was blood. That registered clearly, in his policeman's mind. Then he immediately started searching for the perp. He spotted a platinum blond head disappear through the emergency staircase. A woman?

Perhaps she had been the victim. He was about to pursue her, when the man before him let out a soft moan. Oh, yeah, the blood. It had to be coming from somewhere. He looked down to see a small blond man tied to a chair. The most sickening part, however, was not the state of his front. It was the bear tattoo on his upper right shoulder, halfway carved into his skin with some sort of knife or razor blade.

The Bear Serial Killer.

Could it possibly be that innocent looking girl?

Either way, it didn't matter, because this man needed to get to a hospital.

"Hello, sir, I'm here to help. I'm a police officer. I'll get you out of here in no time. What's your name?"


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello, Julie here (aka RPer of Gilbert, Francis, Ivan, and Mai)! I'm sure I speak for my colleagues when I apologize for how late this is. It's been very hard to coordinate times to RP but I really hope this fic isn't abandoned! _

_Please read and enjoy, though. We probably wont have Chapter 4 up anytime soon but it will be here eventually! _

_Cuba = Carlos  
Taiwan = Mei_

* * *

"_The Wu is comin' thru, the outcome is critical, fuckin wit my style, is sort of like a Miracle, on 34th Street, in the Square of Herald, I gamed Ella, the bitch caught a Fitz like Gerald…"_

Gilbert rapped along to the angsty beats of Wu-Tang Clan's _Clan In Da Front_ as he weaved in and out of the Bronx's poverty-stricken streets. Having been turned out of the Office earlier that afternoon, he was supposed to visit Yao Wang, a close friend of Ivan's, but the order Ivan placed wouldn't be ready until four O'clock so with nothing better to do, Gilbert had gone to cruise around the streets for the past two hours. Even on this side of town, no one could touch him. Being a rather notorious criminal himself and under Ivan's "protection", he was nearly immortal. However, he figured it was more of his amazing awesomeness and sex appeal that granted him the free-pass to any club, whore house, or drug deal in the city – though he gave Ivan's intimidation factor some credit out of his awesome generosity.  
_Invincability can sure be boring_… he thought as he cruised lazily around the block. No one shot him up, no one dared to pick a fight. Not even a silly little knife fight...

"Yo, G-B!" The sudden shout pulled Gilbert's attention back to the road.

The deep voice called again, and Gilbert recognized its owner. The thick Cuban man was waving from the dirty concrete slab that marked the threshold of his apartment. His face was strong with a square jaw and a black goatee. Short dreadlocks were tied back in a ponytail and he wore dark sunglasses that concealed his eyes.

"C-baby!" Gilbert slammed on the brakes and punched the steering wheel, blasting the horn. He leapt from the car, not bothering to lock it. No one would touch it even if he left a treasure chest filled with gold inside – he'd tried a similar experiment with a gold painted watch once. No one dared to even breath on the fresh coat of wax that covered the vehicle's spotless exterior.

The two men embraced each other, throwing playful punches and talking in unintelligible slang.  
"You got a minute, dawg?" The Cuban asked, studying Gilbert from over his shades. "I see you're still hangin' on. Damn, every night I keep thinkin' to ma' self, 'man, Gilly's gonna get himself da big one someday!'"

"Aw, don't sweat it Carlos!" Gilbert said, slapping the larger man on the back as they entered his small, untidy home. "I'm da Boss's top man, dawg! I'm numbah one!"

"yeah, I believe you, Gil" Carlos poured both of them mugs of instant coffee and the two friends sat at a small foldable table in the middle of the closet-sized kitchen. Gilbert shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The wicker was worn out and had frayed holes in the seat, making his ass itch.

Soon they lost track of time. Gilbert and Carlos talked long into the afternoon. When Carlos's wife came home from work, she made the two friends dinner. It was 4:30 and Gilbert had completely forgotten about his appointment with Yao Wang, when his phone suddenly rang during his dinner.

"Yo?" Gilbert answered, cutting off the horribly racist Chinese-takeout-themed ring tone.

"Hello Gilbert." It was Ivan, the Boss. Fragments of memory flew back at Gilbert the moment he heard the cool voice. "Do you have my package?" Ivan asked. His tone turned Gilbert's bones to ice.

"Uh – ah…hahaha – uh, m-mister Braginski!" Gilbert nearly choked on his mouthful of burrito. Carlos and his wife looked up from their food with worry coloring their brown faces. "I-I'm just on my way sir…uh…b-bad traffic!" The line went dead before he could make up any more excuses. Gilbert's eyes met Carlos's for a moment. This could be the last time he ever saw his friend…

"I have to go." He said, voice trembling slightly. "T-thanks for the dinner Sasha."

The albino dashed out of the apartment to his car. Burning rubber as he spun the tires, he flew down the street.

* * *

Yao found himself once again having to wait on Mr. Braginski's man. He looked tiredly at his Rolex, asserting that Mr. Weillschmidt was in fact forty five minutes late for their appointment. This type of behavior was disappointing to Yao, and he wondered if it was worth severing his ties with Ivan. However, considering that Ivan always paid cash up front, and that this was the only problem Yao had ever had with the man, it would be impractical to let such a lucrative deal go to waste.

He looked out the window of his office, appreciating the sunshine and the low din of the den just outside his door. Laughter crept under the cracks of the doorframe, making Yao smile. He liked to see people enjoy themselves. He liked to please them as well, and if they found happiness in the high quality drugs he sold, and then he was more than happy accommodate them. Ah, such bliss.

Just then he heard an all-too-familiar voice harass his favorite hostess. Gilbert. The only thing that man was as devoted to as he was to Ivan was the pursuit of the female. Yao listened as his clever girl laughed Gilbert off and directed the "gangster" albino to his office. Then he heard the jingling of chains and the scuff of street shoes on his bamboo floors, followed by a tentative knock on the door.

"Come in, Mr. Weillschnmidt. You've kept me waiting," Yao pronounced in a friendly but edged tone.

* * *

Gilbert arrived at the front of The Golden Phoenix in record time, especially for having driven all the way from Carlos's apartment in the Bronx to the outskirts of Chinatown. He pulled up in front of the sketchy establishment at five O'clock sharp, pausing momentarily to pull out a small notebook from his sagging pocket to record his broken speeding record.

"Gilbert?" A soft voice rang like bells in his ears.

He jerked his head up from his notepad to the skinny Asian woman standing on the street corner that had just spoken to him. A warm smile spread across his face at the sight of her and his expression was almost tender, if such an expression could be produced by such a shallow man. He left his convertible, approaching the small woman with slow, careful steps.

She was short, and very skinny, but not without curves. Heavy eye makeup adorned her lashes and eyelids and lipstick made her lips redder. The skirt she wore was cut way too short and her soiled tank top way too low, showing generous amounts of cleavage. Gilbert frowned and shrugged off his sweatshirt.

"Here," He said, handing it to her. "I feel bad every time I have to see you like this."

The whore blushed, but accepted the extra cover, slipping the large sweatshirt over her head. The garment ran past the end of her tattered denim skirt.

"There's a present in it." He said, watching with a smile as she put her small hands in the pockets. A look of shock flashed on her face, another blush, and then embarrassment and a little anger as she withdrew a wad of one-hundred dollar bills.

"Gilbert…you don't hav– "

"Yes I do," He said, insisting softly. "I want you to have it. Keep it. I want you to get yourself out of this damn drug den."

The Taiwanese woman sighed heavily. The exhalation sounded forced, exhausted. "You're here to meet with Yao aren't you?" She asked, changing the subject.

Gilbert's eyes widened. He had gotten carried away again and forgotten his task. "Oh shit, yeah." He said. "I'm already late. C'mon."

They entered the building together. The Golden Phoenix was a Chinese restaurant that was run by a notorious underground Heroin den and Opium ring almost as famous as Ivan Braginski's mafia. The owner and leader of the ring, Yao Wang, was a close friend and business partner of Ivan's and knew Gilbert well. At the back of the restaurant, near the stairs that lead to the whore house on the upper level, Gilbert knocked on a simple wood door with the word Manager written on a placard.

"Oh," Yao exclaimed in surprise as not one, but two heads popped through his office door. He hadn't expected Gilbert to bring... company with him to a business meeting. "Hello, Mei. It's lovely to see you again. However, if you wouldn't mind waiting outside the door for Mr. Beilschmidt? You'll understand that we've got some business to take care of."

Yao tried to phrase his dismissal as politely as possible, but he couldn't fully hide his irritation at Gilbert's nerve. Not only was he extremely late, but he dared to bring his "late night fun" with him to a meeting in which there would be an exchange of (lawfully) questionable substances? Yao felt his fingers tap the table impatiently as he waited for Gilbert's response.

After knocking, Gilbert wasted no time waiting for an answer before bursting into the room, dragging Mei along with him. His face fell slightly when Yao seemed less than thrilled with his awesome entrance.

Mei turned to face him and gave a tight-lipped, half-smile before turning to leave the two men alone. She had nothing better to do than go back out to the streets.

"Yao, my man!" Gilbert's ever-present smile returned the second the door closed behind him. "Yo dawg, I'm sorry fo' bein' late an' all. Bad traffic. You know how long it takes a man to drive all the way from the Office to Chinatown?"

Yao considered telling the albino that it took exactly fifteen minutes to drive from the Office to Chinatown, but thought better of it. He didn't want to drive Ivan off with a bad review from this man. God knows why, but Ivan seemed to trust Gilbert completely, and his opinion could influence whether or not Ivan wanted to do business with Yao in the future.

So the Chinaman simply smiled, and said "I'm sure your absence was in good reason. Regardless, let's get serious. Once I've received my payment, I can get you and your boss what you want, and we can part ways in good faith."

Yao reached under his desk and brought up a briefcase, placing it within easy reach on the table. Normally he'd take far more precautions, but he'd done business with Ivan quite a few times, and he'd always proven an honest man, an honest organization. In this underworld of crime and murder, that's more than a one could ask.

"'Aight, I got yo' dough right here, dawg."Gilbert thrust his hands into the sagging pockets of his pants and from them he withdrew a crumpled envelope. He was never known for his neatness. It wasn't because he didn't care, but rather because the German gangster was simply too dense to realize that delivering business transactions in one's dirty pants pocket is not exactly _polite_. Gilbert flashed the Chinaman a large grin as he removed the pocket lint from the crinkled envelope and placed it in the other man's delicate Asian hand.

After receiving a package in return, Gilbert made a hasty 'goodbye' and left Yao Wang's office in a hurry. By arriving late already to pick up the herion, he was likewise terribly late in returning to Ivan. Above the silhouette of the sprawl, the sun was already setting as Gilbert left the Golden Phoenix. He didn't see Mai outside the 'restaurant' and his heart sunk as he thought of what she was most likely doing _inside_. The slight breeze nipped at his bare arms, however he figured that she would need his sweatshirt more than he did. He speed out of Chinatown without a second thought.

Weaving in and out of the late-evening traffic, Gilbert was too worried about getting the heroin to Ivan on time to realize that he was driving fifteen miles an hour over the imposed speed limit, not like he ever obeyed it anyways, being a "thug". As thug as he was however, Gilbert could not shake the police officer that had been tailing him for over five city blocks.

_shit shit shit! _Gilbert panicked, illogically speeding faster to escape the cop. The profanities escalated as a second cop on a motorcycle joined the chase. He was within four blocks of the Office. Turning his left blinker on, he took a sharp right turn onto a small side street in an attempt to throw the five law-enforcement vehicles that were now on his tail. After barely thirty feet down the alleyway, one of the white and blue cars appeared at the exit he was headed for. Gilbert slammed on the breaks, screeching to a stop. The vehicle that blocked his escape came to a halt in front of him and another came from behind. The occupants of the two police cars, four total, exited their cars and all approached Gilbert's open convertible.

Gilbert felt the beginnings of panic well up in his gut as the blue-clad officers approached. The heroin was in the trunk. As long as he kept a cool head they wouldn't look, although because of the speed chase, he would most likely be taken away to the station which meant that Ivan wouldn't get his business transaction from Yao, which could mean either torture or death by his Boss's insane "sister". Gilbert nearly cried at the graveness of his mistake as the officers forced him from his car.

At the New York City Police Station, Gilbert sat in a dimly lit room. A shabby desk sat in the middle and he sat in front of it on an ancient wooden chair that he suspected of being moldy. A sandy-haired man with the thickest eyebrows Gilbert had ever seen sat on the other side of the desk, staring at him. They had been like this, unmoving for the past hour as the man waited for the results of a search performed on Gilbert's Cadillac.

The door to the room opened and Gilbert's heart pounded loudly in his ears as a grinning pretty-boy with long blonde hair dropped a folder onto the desk in front of the man with the eyebrows. The pretty-boy then bent to whisper something into eyebrow's ear, pausing to kiss the other man's neck before leaving the two of them alone. Gilbert wondered if the whole entire police outfit was gay. The thought made him shudder, though it passed quickly as Gilbert's red eyes fell to that manila folder and then up to the eyebrow man's face as he waited for the words he feared.

Arthur stared at the envelope before him, quickly flicking through its contents, "Gilbert Beilschmidt?" He asked, raising a large eyebrow and looking at the man seated across from him.

"I'm not talkin'." Gilbert snarled, red eyes narrowing to slits. He crossed his arms defiantly. "I ain't gonna tell you nothin'! I got the right to remain silent!"

"Oh really now?" Arthur asked, leaning forward, "Indeed…while you have the right to remain silent, I don't think it would do you much good in this case…" holding up the envelope, the cop patted it against the table, "The evidence speaks for itself."

Gilbert's eyes bulged. _fuck..._ He thought. They found it. Though he was not familiar with the law and it's punishments for crime, he figured being caught with a brief case of heroine in the trunk of your car would not bid well for him. He'd probably go to jail...and if he were stuck in prison, he couldn't get the package to Ivan and if Ivan didn't get the shit, Gilbert might not live to see his next birthday.

"Wh-what evidence?" He asked, voice cracking slightly. In his mind, he pleaded and reassured himself, trying to keep his emotions in check.

"Well, as you probably know, we had to search your car" Arthur shrugged, "Any guesses as to what we found?"

"hmm...I don't know." For the hell of it, Gilbert decided to play dumb with the policeman. It's not like he had anything to loose. "What did you find?"

"200 grams" Arthur said, an air of finality surrounding him, "200 grams of pure heroin in your trunk. Can you explain how that got there, Mr. Beilschmidt?"

"Well, you see it was really funny actually," Gilbert's mouth was on autopilot. His mind was completely shut-off with panic. He was never accustomed to thinking before speaking anyway so the lie that poured from his lips took no effort at all. "I was drivin' along and then this gang of ganstas attacked me and stuffed a bunch of shit in my trunk. I of course, being a law-abiding citizen and all, didn't know what to do with it so I just drove on home..."

Arthur had worked for the force for many years and seen many cases. However, Mr. Beilschmidt was proving most interesting as well as most, well, stupid. Most people would have seen the fruitlessness of the situation, but Beilschmidt rambled on, talking about "gangstas" (here, Arthur cringed at the pure debauchery of the English language) stealing his car and god knows what else, "Mr. Beilschmidt" Arthur said, cutting Gilbert's rant short, "Why didn't you report this crime then? Come now, you surely see the chase is up? Just admit to what you did, and we may be able to cut you a deal."

"A deal? hmm..." Gilbert's eyebrows pulled together as he thought (though the action would have looked much more impressive if done by the other man's sizable brows). Deals...deals are good. Gilbert reasoned that if he could play his cards right, this _deal_ just might save his life.

"Well, fine. You caught me! I was delivering heroine to my Boss. Geez, do you realize the danger I'm in right now? I was supposed to be at the Office three hours ago! He's gonna kill me! I'm dead. Man, I'm telling you, you've never met this guy...he's a fucking psychopath!"

Arthur nodded, "Well I'm sorry, Mr. Beilschmidt, but we are going to have to refrain you for a bit longer…your boss, who is he exactly?"

Gilbert chewed at his lip nervously. He couldn't betray his Boss, his job...his life. Yet, at the same time he was with the law now. He could either accept their offer and chance a less-severe punishment or protect Ivan and the Business and suffer greatly. Whether it was fortunate or unfortunate, his cowardice got the better of him.

"His name is...Ivan. Ivan B-Braginski. He - er, we have this sort of...business going and he's the head honcho. He protects us well enough. As long as you're on his good side, you're fucking immortal, but if you mess up a job or something, you're good as dead, man."

"Braginski, you said?" Arthur asked sharply, staring at Gilbert, "That name sounds horribly familiar…" he stood quickly, letting the chair scrape harshly over the linoleum floor, "Stay here." He instructed Gilbert, "I'll be back soon. There are some people I need to talk to before this goes any further." With that, he turned from the table and quickly strode out of the room, his thick brows knitted together and face pulled into a scowl.


End file.
